It's All We've Ever Done
by RainyDays-and-DayDreams
Summary: Sherlock and John, through the years. Kid!lock, teen!lock, eventual Johnlock. Written for the 100 Themes Challenge.
1. 1 Intro

_A/N: Well, its been a while. Hello, Rainy here. Short version: Not dead. _

_No, seriously. I haven't had a good... However long it's been since I last posted. (It feels like an eternity, but something tells me it's only been a bit longer than a month.)_

_It's taking me an awful lot of courage to post this here after such a long time away, but you know what? I've finally realized that the reason I write is to make me happy, and this makes me happy. Am I confident in this? No. But am I ever fully confident in anything I do? Hell no. So will this help me improve my writing and make me happy, and maybe expose me to new people who will provide encouragement, and maybe even become my friends? Hopefully. So I'm posting this._

_There will be 100 of these, as the name of the challenge implies. Most will be extremely short. As in, under 500 words short. They won't be posted in order, nor will they be posted on a regular, set time-frame. I will, however, try to upload at least two at a time. _

_Not beta'd or brit-picked. Title is a bastardization of a line from the song "New Theory" by Washed Out._

_Dedicated to those I know and love. To those who helped me through this. Thank you._

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**_Disclaimer: I own nothing._**

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_1. Intro_

They met on a Saturday afternoon.

The younger one was sitting underneath a birch tree, plucking moodily at a violin, soft summer breeze playing with his dark curls.

The older one sat next to him, looking out at the meadow with his eyes closed, listening curiously as his companion continued to pluck at the violin.

The older boy came here a lot, but he'd never seen the younger one before.

He (the older) turned to him. "What're you doing here?"

The other plucked another string. "I'd assume the same thing you're doing."

The older quirked a blonde eyebrow. "So your sister is running around at home, drunk and breaking things?"

The younger one sniffed. "My fat older brother is annoying me."

The older one smiled. "What's your name?"

The younger one stopped plucking and looked at him. "Sherlock Holmes. And before you ask, I'm five."

The elder child smiled. "My name's John Watson, and I'm six."

Sherlock smiled hesitantly back, before his face turned serious again. "Does the violin bother you?"

John opened his mouth. "What?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes and kept speaking. "Sometimes I won't speak for days straight."

John stared at him in confusion.

Sherlock sighed in a put-upon fashion. "Potential friends should know the worst about each other."

John frowned, and before he could speak the strange boy (_Sherlock, he reminded himself_) had stood up and started to walk away.

"Wait!" John called out, "Where'm I supposed to meet you again?"

Sherlock stopped and turned around, blue-grey eyes shining. "Same time here, tomorrow."

And then John blinked, and he was gone.

John rubbed his eyes, tired. Maybe he'd imagined the whole thing.

Still, what was the harm in coming back tomorrow?

He leaned further against the tree, closing his eyes and yawning. He'd go back home in a few hours. Harry should be calmed down (or maybe even gone) by then.

He smiled as he fell asleep, warm air filling his lungs as he thought of home and his new friend.

_Sherlock._


	2. 17 Blood

_17. Blood (tw: blood)_

John Watson was panicking.

The red was dripping from his friend's knee as he watched, shocked, staining his friend's (too-nice and too-warm for summer weather) dark trousers red.

"Sherlock," John gasped.

Sherlock kept staring at his knee in shock.

John stared as well.

_Something,_ he thought. _I should do something. _

_But what?_

Sherlock gasped and clenched his knee as the pain finally hit him, which made him fall to the ground, grunting and sniffling.

John felt something in him switch on, and another part turn off.

He remembered what his mum would do when he hurt himself, and he looked for something to stop the blood with.

Finding nothing, he took off his shirt and wrapped it around his friend's pale knee, and wrapped his arm around his own waist.

"Come on, Sherlock," he soothed, "Let's go to your mum."

Sherlock sniffled and followed him, leaning on John for support as he hobbled back to where his house was.

Later, John would have no memory of specifically performing those actions. If people asked, he found the best way to describe it was as if someone else had taken control of his body as he watched.

As he helped Sherlock hobble up to his house, Mrs. Holmes opened the door and came running out.

"Oh, Sherlock," she tutted, looking over him, "How many times have I told you to be careful when you're playing?"

Sherlock pouted. "John and I were playing pirates."

She raised an eyebrow as she knelt down to examine his knee. "The how exactly did you get this?"

Sherlock scowled, caught. "I climbed a tree."

Seeing the look on his mother's face, he quickly added, "But it was for an experiment!"

She shook her head, smiling at her youngest son's foolishness as she looked at John, who was standing shyly nearby, looking down at his shoes.

She smiled softly at him. "You're John, yes? John Watson?"

He looked up and nodded solemnly. "Is Sherlock gonna be alright?"

She nodded, smiling. "Yes, he should be fine. Especially because you did the right thing." She looked him over. "Maybe you should be a doctor."

He stared, shocked, as she scooped Sherlock and began to carry him inside.

"Thank you!" he called out at the last moment.

She turned around and smiled. "You're welcome. Stay right there, John. I'll walk you home." Then she opened the door, carried Sherlock in, and was gone for the time being.

John stared at the door, pondering what she had told him. A doctor. No one had told him that before.

He was still pondering it as she walked him back to his house, summer sun shining overhead.


End file.
